


Mistakes We Made

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Night Hymns [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock, Dark John, Domestic Violence, Drunk John, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk and jealous, John does something he'll regret. But Sherlock misses something too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes We Made

**Author's Note:**

> It starts off pretty dark, but I promise it gets better.

John grit his teeth as Sherlock talked to the two blond strippers over by the stage.  All Sherlock had to do was smile and maybe tousle his hair and the girls purred, moving much closer to him then the rules allowed. The one on his right put a hand on his hip and leaned into his ear.  The music thumped far too loudly as John closed his eyes.

The beer tasted terrible. That hadn’t stopped John from steadily drinking pint after pint while Sherlock talked to people, almost all of them blonde, big breasted and at least easy on the eyes. John’s eyes never left Sherlock, not even sparing a glance to the hostess that kept bringing him his drinks. Sherlock walked back over, eyeing him. “I have what I need, for now. We can resume in the morning.”

“Allright,” John wasn’t aware his words were slurring as he stood. Sherlock dropped money on the table and lead John out into the darkness, summoning a cab as if he were some sort of dark wizard of London cabs.

The ride back to the flat was silent. John stared out the window, half watching Sherlock’s reflection in the glass, but Sherlock’s mind seemed to be turned inward, no doubt going over whatever he’d learned at the strip club. John’s hand flexed subconsciously.

They arrived back at the flat, Sherlock hurrying up the stairs while John took them a bit less steadily. By the time he reached the front room he could already hear the shower running. Slowly he shrugged out of his jacket, the bass from the club still thumping in his head as he started to turn to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sherlock’s door was open, just a bit, light spilling into the hall. Licking his lips, John walked towards the light, pushing the door the rest of the way open. As always, Sherlock’s room was immaculate in a way nowhere else in the flat ever was. John hadn’t been in here often, but now he wandered around, picking up a book that was on the dresser and setting it down again.

The shower shut off. The man took showers even shorter than John’s. Watching the door, John stayed where he was, tongue darting out again as watched. The bathroom door opened and closed. It was only a few short steps. There was a heartbeat of hesitation as he saw the door open, then Sherlock stepped inside, towel loose around his waist. “John?”

Something uncoiled inside John’s gut. He took two short steps and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, twisting him towards the bed. Sherlock jerked back on instinct and John’s fist came up, catching his cheek. Sherlock stumbled back and John moved forward, toppling him into the bed and smothering Sherlock with a kiss.

Sherlock pushed back against him, but John dragged him further up the bed, towel getting lost along the way. “Look at you,” John growled. “All you have to do is smile, look at them. You could have had any one of those girls, or all of them.”

Sherlock looked confused, then hurt, his eyes widened. “Why would I…?”

John knelt between his legs and bit his shoulder, marking him. Sherlock cried out and arched against him, his cock rubbing against the denim of John’s jeans. “I am going to fuck you,” announced John, pushing his legs apart.

“John, you’re drunk,” Sherlock panted against him.

“You know why. You and your cheekbones and hair and what the hell color are your eyes anyway?” John smoothed Sherlock’s hair back, looking at his face but not seeing.

Sherlock looked back at him, breath short, lips parted as he waited for John to make the next move. John leaned down and kissed him again, this time not so rough, tongue slipping into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock’s eyes closed as he reached up and ran his hands through John’s short hair.

John jerked away. He leaned over to the end table, knocking the lamp over and sending the room into shadows. Cursing, he got the drawer open, fumbling for the lube he knew the other man had to keep in there. Finding it, he knelt back and went at the cap. Sherlock took it from him and opened it, just watching him as he handed it back.

Clumsily, John coated his fingers and reached roughly between Sherlock’s legs, leaning over him again. “I’m going to fuck you,” he promised again as Sherlock winced. “You’re gonna be begging for my cock.” He pushed his fingers deeper, drawing a gasp.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock breathed, moving against his hand.

“Hold still,” he growled, leaning to bite at Sherlock’s shoulder again. Sherlock moaned as John’s teeth moved, scraping at his neck as he kept  working at him. Sherlock’s hand’s reached back to grab the headboard, leaving himself open and vulnerable beneath John.

John’s other hand went to his belt and he yanked it free.  Pulling his fingers out and leaving Sherlock gasping, he took the belt and quickly bound Sherlock’s wrists to the bed before looking down at his handiwork. “You like this. You like when I hurt you. I bet you misbehaved in school just so the headmaster would take the paddle to you.”

For once Sherlock had nothing to say. John chuckled darkly and hauled Sherlock’s legs farther apart, this time dropping his head and laving his hole with his tongue. Sherlock shouted as John’s tongue pressed inside, jerking against his bonds, John’s hands leaving bruises on his thighs.

Within a few minutes Sherlock was whimpering. John raised his head, wiping his mouth as he looked down at his lover. Sherlock’s head was turned away, face shadowed, eyes screwed shut as he panted, cock heavy and weeping. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” he panted, only his lips moving.

John grabbed his chin and forced Sherlock to face him. “Open your eyes, what do you want?”

Sherlock looked up at him, vulnerable and raw. “Please, John.”

A wicked smile twitched on John’s lips as he freed his cock and positioned himself, hooking Sherlock’s knees over his shoulders, nearly doubling Sherlock over as he pushed his way inside.

Sherlock’s head dropped to the side again as he cried out against his outstretched arm. John took him hard, coming quickly. Panting, he reached up and released Sherlock’s wrists. Sherlock’s hands dropped to his erection and he stroked himself off while John watched, tongue between his teeth. Sherlock came hard. John dropped his head to lap at the head of his cock, leaving Sherlock whimpering and oversensitive.

Slowly John pulled away. He looked at Sherlock, unfocused, then stumbled out of bed, stopping to throw up in the bathroom before falling up the stairs.

 

**

 

The morning light stabbed at his eyes as John woke in the morning. He rolled out of bed and down to the shower, trying to remember. They’d gone to a club, right? Had he hit someone? Needing tea badly he dressed and found his way to the kitchen. Sherlock was bent over something on the table. John blinked as he saw a bruise on his flat mate’s cheek. “Someone hit you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock ignored him and made some adjustment to what he was doing. Frowning, John put the kettle on. He grabbed some aspirin before turning to look at Sherlock again. It was like the pieces were all in his head but they wouldn’t match up. His stomach knotted as he stared at the bruise. “Did… I hit you?”

The same silence.  John took a step towards him and Sherlock suddenly turned away, finding something to look at in the fridge. John took a shaky breath and turned to face the kettle, willing it to boil faster. “Sherlock,” he said softly, searching for words. “Look, whatever this might be…don’t let me hurt you. No one deserves that.”

Footsteps walked out of the kitchen. John dragged a hand down his face. There was a reason he didn’t get drunk very often. The kettle finally went off and he poured himself a cuppa, making one for Sherlock as well, wondering if things could possibly be okay between them.

He stepped into the front room. Sherlock was gathering what he would need for the day, but he took the tea without hesitation. “Good information yesterday,” he said, almost cheerily. Anyone else would be fooled. “We should go before the trail gets any colder.”

John nodded and drank fast. “That’ll make Lestrade happy at least.”

“Yes,” Sherlock had already finished his and was pulling on his coat and scarf. “Let’s find a cab.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be fallout from this, more in the next installment.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
